


Waste of Time

by NightmareWolf



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Character Study, Fluff and Angst, L and A are mentioned, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 17:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20998307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightmareWolf/pseuds/NightmareWolf
Summary: Near was emotionless, and emotionless people don't cry.So then...why?





	Waste of Time

**Author's Note:**

> WOW DEATHNOTE FAN FIC IN 2019 WOOHOO  
also keep in mind this is Mello's POV so this isn't how I necessarily see Near. I don't think he's emotionless but I'm sure Mello does :PPP

Near.

To many, it's just a boring old English word. An adverb; a preposition; but not usually a name. He supposed, on some level, that made Near _special_, didn't it? Then again, not many people are named Mello, are they? But for Mello, Near wasn't simply an adverb, or a preposition, or even a name. It—_he_—was something more than that. Mello couldn't place his finger on what he was, though. But he did know this,

He despised everything about Near.

Yes, he absolutely _hated _Near from the bottom of his heart.

Near was nothing but an emotionless freak who played with his toys like he was still five. And yet, somehow, the immature bastard managed to outsmart him. He managed to be number one—and the worst part was that Near didn't even _care_. He never gloated, never showed any sort of happiness or pride hearing that he got the highest marks on a test or answered everything perfectly. He never batted an eye when people told him how smart and gifted he was. He had no ambition. None. How could somebody like that be L's successor? How did everybody think Near could be the next L when all he did was play with his _goddamn _toys and ignore everyone? Maybe Near was smart, but without charisma, without some social skill, without a reason to live, then what use was he, as L's successor no less?

And although Mello thought and believed this, his logical side was also playing its part in making him second-guess everything. Near wasn't _really_ emotionless, was he? Sometimes when Mello broke a toy Near particularly liked, he looked a little sad. If he punched him hard enough, he'd wince and curl his fingers in pain. If he said something visceral and venomous, he'd look almost surprised. If he taunted him with his real name—_Why don't you get up and go outside, Nate? Don't you get tired, just playing with hunks of plastic, Nate?_—he'd look annoyed. 

And perhaps, Near did have some sort of motives in his life. L once visited long ago during the Christmas season to give each child their own gift, and Near received a completely blank 500 piece white puzzle. L knew Near loved puzzles and challenges, and when he finally completed that puzzle, he smiled. Surely, he wouldn't have worked to complete such a tedious puzzle if he wasn't interested in it; if he didn't have any _motive _to do so, right? But when Mello starts thinking about that, he's reminded of a memory he probably shouldn't have. Sometime in September, during the night, Mello had eavesdropped on a conversation between Matt and Near. Matt—Mello's best (and sometime's only) friend—and Near were somewhat close (much to Mello's dismay). He knew they didn't know they were being listened on, and while Mello felt a little guilty for invading their privacy, what they don't know can't kill them, right? Plus, he was curious to know what the two of them talked about together. Most of the time, they're content with just lounging around in silence together (which quickly bores Mello), but he did manage to hear one exchange.

He remembered hearing Matt chuckle, some sort of soft, quiet chiptune song could be heard. He was most likely playing on his DS, like he did almost everyday. He remarked, "man, all I'm doing is wasting time." whether this statement was made in regards to what he was doing in-game or about his real life, Mello has yet to determine. But Near's reply to him was quite unmistakable.

A second passed before there was a response. "So am I," Near spoke. "My life is a waste of time."

But the way he said it—he didn't sound sad or depressed or even envious or annoyed. He sounded cold and emotionless like he always did. Like a robot. A cold, calculating, factual robot.

Matt had replied, in a chuckle, "for real? When you say it like that, it sounds depressing."

"Oh? So it does?" Near hummed. "Roger tells me I often sound rude, but I never mean to be. I don't quite understand."

"So, you didn't mean for that to sound depressing?"

"Yes."

And though that may not have been Near's intent, it made Mello feel a flash of sympathy. Even if it were only for a second, the seed had been planted, and now he couldn't help but halt everytime he went to kick Near or yell at him or knock down his dice towers and think about what he heard.

_My life is a waste of time._

Maybe he wasn't depressed, or sad. Maybe to him, that was just a fact. A stone cold emotionless fact for a stone cold emotionless person. Maybe it meant nothing to him. Maybe he didn't care that his life was a waste of time, that he had no motives or ambitions. For the first time ever, Mello considered if Near felt trapped because of his intellect. After all, if you've learned all there is to learn, what are you left to do? Surely, living out a meaningless life is the most torturous thing a human could go through. But did Near even feel emotional pain? Turmoil? Did he care even the least bit?

No, he doesn't care. Because he can't feel. He's apathetic. Even though he's so smart, all he does is play with his stupid fucking toys.

Not only was he emotionless, but he was selfish.

Mello agreed. His life was nothing but a waste of time.

* * *

It was 2:00AM. Mello knew he should probably be asleep, but he wanted to keep studying. He wanted to prove he was _better _than Near. To Near, to L, to himself, to everyone. He was better.

And that was the plan—to study for a few more hours. But as he leaned back against his chair to take a moment to stretch, he heard a sharp, loud noise. At first, Mello thought that something may have fallen in his room or broken, but the sound was too muffled to be within his bedroom. And as his tired mind registered the noise more clearly, he realized what he had heard.

The sound of dice clattering against hardwood floor.

While Mello was confused, he didn't necessarily feel like going out to investigate. Perhaps Near left one of his dice towers up and gravity decided to make it collapse. It didn't matter to him. But as he went back to studying, only a minute later did he hear another sound. This time it was something of hard plastic falling against the floor with such force that it seemed deliberate.

Somebody was awake, that was for sure.

And Mello intended to tell them to shut the fuck up, because he was trying to study.

Closing his notebook and textbook furiously, he yanked open his door and marched down the hall into the "livingroom" of sorts, but you could barely call it that. Though it had furniture, it was far too spacious to be your average livingroom. It connected multiple halls all leading to various bedrooms, and also connected to the kitchen. In the darkness—only made visible with the moonlight shining through stained glass—could Mello spot Near. He seemed to be farther down, sitting down facing the corner of the room, his back to everything else. Mello saw the dice he heard earlier scattered around, reaching great distances, telling Mello that whatever sculpture Near made with it he had destroyed intentionally. Furthermore, various toys were scattered around, one even broken, and Near didn't seem to intend on stopping as a plastic T-Rex toy was thrown against the floor, making a loud, deafening clatter amidst the eerie dead silence.

Mello growled. Just what was Near thinking, doing this at such a ridiculous time? Was he _trying _to wake everybody up?

Mello blinked.

Was he?

Near had always been an odd kid. He acted and talked different from everybody else. If this was his way of trying to get somebody's attention for whatever reason, it made sense. Of course he'd throw some sort of tantrum. However, this resolve further angered Mello. Why couldn't Near just be _normal_? Did he have to inconvenience _everybody_? Irate, he quickly walked—marched, perhaps—over to Near until he was only a foot away from the other, looking down at him. He couldn't see his face. He was on his knees, bent over, so he could only see his white hair that practically glittered in the moonlight.

_White hair_, Mello thought with disdain. _Even your hair is freakishly abnormal._

"Near." Mello's voice was clear and assertive, and the strong hint of annoyance in it could not be ignored easily, not even by Near. "I don't know what you're up to, but some of us are trying to _work,_ you know. So maybe try to keep it down?"

Silence.

Near's hand at his side, clutching a toy plane, tightened. It tightened to the point Mello could see Near's hand visibly shaking. In fact—now that he got a better look—all of Near seemed to be trembling.

"_Near—_"

"I'm sorry."

Those two words caused Mello's eyes stretched slightly wide, an icy-cold shock flashing throughout his body—just for a second. _Sorry? _Since when did Near apologize for anything? And in his confusion, he forgot what Near could possibly be apologizing for. To him, this was arbitrary. Out of the blue.

"...Sorry," Near spoke again softly. he let go of the toy plane, and instead held his baggy sleeve up to his face (or Mello guessed that's what he was doing, he couldn't really see from where he was standing). He heard a soft, almost inaudible broken whimper, one that sounded _so _pathetic he wondered if it _actually _came from Near for a moment. Proceeded by that was a quiet sniff. Though Mello already knew the answer to the question tumbling out of his mouth, he was too shocked to stop himself. 

"Are you _crying_?"

A moment of silence passed between the two, where the only sound that echoed throughout the darkness was the _tick _of the grandfather clock. Near was completely silent; so was Mello. They stayed frozen. Eerily still, as if their life depended on it. Then,

"Yes," Near's quiet, shaky voice answered. "I am."

Mello didn't know what compelled him—hell, he still doesn't—but he knelt down behind Near, grabbed him by the shoulders, and turned him around so the smaller boy faced him. Maybe it wasn't the best idea (Near hated being touched and Mello's movements are typically aggressive), but Mello didn't care about that in the moment. He wanted to see Near.

Though Near had quickly covered his face with his hands and those baggy sleeves from his pajamas. His shoulders raised as his head looked down, a soft sob jolting his body. But that wasn't what Mello was looking for. It was probably sick, but he wanted to see Near cry. He wanted to see some damn emotion in his eyes, just once. A part of him felt satisfied seeing the younger boy so broken up, seeing it as a twisted from of justice, but guilt quickly overrid this perception, even if it still lingered. He wondered if he should be able to feel any sort of satisfaction from seeing Near cry. Was that justified? Surely, right? Near had caused so much trouble in his life, it was only fair. 

But Near never _meant _to cause the trouble he did.

Mello frowned.

Forcefully, he grabbed hold of Near's wrists, easily being able to pry them away from his face. Now—_Now _he could get a good look. Near's cheeks were flushed red from crying, which definitely stood out from his milky-white pale complexion. Tears kept streaming down his face, dripping on his shirt; his eyes were narrowed, a look of not sadness screwed into them, but something more melancholic. Misery? Depression? There was a slight fearful look to them. It left Mello in slight awe to see so much emotion in one person's eyes, yet not being able to describe any of it. It didn't make sense to Mello; Near had been so easy for him to describe up up until now: emotionless.

Near was emotionless, and emotionless people don't cry.

So then...why?

_Why?_

"Near," Mello spoke up, his hand still gripping at Near's wrists tightly even as the other tried to pull away. Tears flooded down his cheeks, and a broken sob—this time not muffled by his shirt sleeves—left him.

"Near," Mello repeated. "It's okay."

Near looked up at him, teary eyes now wide with surprise. His body still trembled, but he stopped fighting against Mello's grip. 

And to be truthful, Mello was just as shocked with himself. He didn't know _why _he was trying to console Near. It just came out of his mouth. He didn't know if he wanted to stop or not; but it seemed that the ball was already rolling.

"It's...uh, why are you crying?" Mello awkwardly asked, unhanding Near. 

The small boy sniffled, using his now mobile hand to wipe his sleeve across his face. "Nightmares," he answered.

Mello was about to roll his eyes, to snap at Near for being so childish about some nightmare, but then he remembered his own nightmares—the ones reminding him of events he'd rather forget, the kind that kept him up the rest of the night and plagued his thoughts for weeks. Suddenly, he felt a _bit _more empathetic towards Near's response. "About?" he pressed.

"I...It's hard to explain," Near responded. A hiccup jolted him as more tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Was it about, uh...something about your life, before coming to Wammy's House?"

"Not exactly..."

"Was it existential?"

"I suppose."

"Did you...dream, or think about, A?"

"..."

Near's silence was all Mello needed to know the answer.

For them, and for most kids in Wammy's House, asking them if they were "dreaming about A" or "thinking about A" was a subtle way of asking if they were depressed, and thinking—or dreaming of—killing themselves. He supposed it came about when A, the first successor to L, had killed herself due to not being able to handle the pressure or expectations forced upon her. While Mello could never see himself committing suicide (personally, he found it to be a stupid way to die), he could understand why other kids—in Wammy's House, no less—may feel inclined to do so. After what happened with A, they definitely do care about everyone's mental health a bit more.

Mello met Near's gaze. While the other refused to answer him and was clearly ashamed of not doing so, he still didn't break away from Mello's stare. That was impressive; Mello will give Near that.

"Near, are you concerned that..." Mello's lips pursed into a line, trying to think of the right words to say. Why was he putting so much thought into this? Why did he care about trying to console Near? Why didn't he just fuck off, and tell Near to fuck off? Why does he care if Near was potentially depressed, or had dreams of killing himself, or something of that sort? As fucked up as it was, wouldn't it be better for Mello if Near _did _just die? He wouldn't be in his way anymore. But also...the thought of Near dying, by his own hands or otherwise, made him feel sick. He couldn't understand. He couldn't understand _himself_. But a part of him—a small, tiny part of him—believed he understood Near. If only just a little.

"Are you concerned your life is nothing but a waste of time?"

Near sat up a bit straighter, eyes wide with shocked. Honestly, it was the most expressive Mello had ever seen Near; he knew he had hit the nail on the head. And perhaps because he voiced Near's thoughts aloud, Near began to break down into silent sobs again. He didn't bother to hide his face this time. He just hung his head and let his tears drip onto the floor, occasional whimpers and sniffs were choked out, sometimes an audible sob racked his frail body, but otherwise he was quiet. 

"Near, if you want, you can sleep with me in my room tonight," Mello offered before he could even think about what he was saying. "Just—just tonight, though."

"Wh-Why are you..." Near's voice was slurred from all the crying. He gulped, breathing in deeply before trying again. "This isn't like you, Mello."

_I know, idiot, _Mello thought in his head, but he didn't say it aloud. Not because he was concerned about Near's feelings, but because...he didn't know why he was acting this way, either. But for some reason, he didn't _mind _acting this way. A part of him liked it. God, Near just fucks up everything.

"I know," was all Mello said, dropping the "idiot" part. "Let's go to my room."

And so, silently, Mello walked with Near (who was still sniffling and wiping his eyes) back down the hallway and to his bedroom. He thought about maybe trying to hold Near's hand in a way to comfort him, but the thought was quickly pushed from his mind. Why the _hell _would he do that? Near hated being touched, and he hated touching Near. Why would he do something as girly and embarrassing as hold his hand? Why did he even _think _that? He must be tired.

Upon entering Mello's room, Mello made a bee-line to his desk so he could shut his lamp off. After all, he doubted he'd be studying much now. He joined Near in his bed, the smaller boy lied on his side on the far right side, curled up slightly. With the lights now off, Near mumbled a quiet "thank you" before closing his eyes. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, probably tired from crying so much, but Mello couldn't sleep at all. He tried to, he really did, but the events of what happened kept playing in his mind. He kept debating; wondering if he should've done or said something different. If he should have been nicer, or not as nice. Did he _want _to be nicer? He didn't know. He shifted in bed, turning around so he could look at Near who was fast asleep. He looked much more peaceful now, and his skin looked soft and pale as it always did, instead of red and tear-stained. That peaceful, undisturbed look he had was almost _cute_. Mello almost slapped himself for thinking that.

Hesitantly, although curiously, Mello ran his hand through Near's hair. he did so gently, his fingers trailing around his curls and through his bangs. His hair was soft and thin, and could be described as "fluffy". Maybe that's why Near plays with his hair all the time.

Gah, what was he doing? This was pointless. He should be sleeping. 

He turned around, facing away from Near, and closed his eyes. While he did eventually fall into sleep, he found himself having Near in his thoughts. And although he thought Near was a little freak, he conceded that he probably wasn't emotionless. And, moreover, he may retract that "just tonight" statement...

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to write near crying and mello being nice THATS MY EXCUSE


End file.
